


Still Faking I'm Whole

by Kono_Rohan_Da



Series: Rohan's Whumptober 2020 [24]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Violence, Mute Bokuto Koutarou, Muteness, Whump, Whumptober 2020, past character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kono_Rohan_Da/pseuds/Kono_Rohan_Da
Summary: Nationals. One month after qualifiers, one month after the incident that may change his life forever, rendering the ace know for his exuberance, his excitement, his cheerful quality and boisterous voice as only a fraction of who he used to be with the violent theft of his voice. His identity.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou & Fukuroudani Volleyball Club, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Rohan's Whumptober 2020 [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948426
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Still Faking I'm Whole

Bokuto hasn’t know this amount of fear, of strange shame, of wanting to hide away in the shadows until he becomes part of the walls before. The uniform he wears, with white and gold and black, the number four emblazoned on the front and back with the mark of a captain under it, even it feels strange. It makes him stand out. It identifies him. It makes eyes turn to him, 

“Bokuto-san, are you okay?” Akaashi asks, soothing a voice as much of a comfort as it ever was. Bokuto turns his head at his friend and smiles, nodding, from where he sits on the bench. Akaashi has just come from the court, another set for Fukurodani, quickly drinking his water and wiping the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck. 

His neck...it still hurts. The little over a month old scar, little than two centimeters long, which has robbed him from so much. Has reduced him to so little. 

He knows that Fukurodani has always been a powerhouse school- it didn’t suddenly become one because he joined the team. But it meant something to him, being powerful, earlier this year. He knows that his team will do just fine without him for as long as he needs- they’re good that way. He isn’t just energy and immaturity like everyone thinks- he had to become captain somehow. So he watches from the sides, knowing that if he joins right now, when he’s not ready, then he’ll bring his team down. 

That’s what he’d like his excuse to be. But to be honest, it’s the fear. 

He’s avoided Kuroo and the rest of Nekoma like the plague. His team has helped him avoid them. The last time he really talked to  _ any  _ of them were the qualifiers for Nationals, and that was the day before the accident. 

There’s also Karasuno here too, with sunshine-ball, stick of salt, anxiety ace, and captain thighs. To be honest, he wants to play, but he wants to avoid  _ anything  _ that will make him get the attention of others he knows besides his own team. 

And that’s why he’s not playing right now. He knows he can’t last the whole match, with his throat feeling the best it has in a while, his thoughts barely straying into the newly-formed haunted recesses of his brain, and his skills better than ever now that he doesn’t actually….talk. 

Fukurodani versus Itachiyama. 

Bokuto watched from his perch in the shadows when Nekoma lost their balance. He was their when Karasuno lost their wings. He was there as team after team were clipped and thrown off their pedestal, as the mighty fell down the stairs as less and less made it up one more. And Bokuto watched. For the first time in a long time, he really took in the games around him. Rather than gawk and coo about how cool others look, he analyzes their styles, picks apart their flaws, criticizes their advantages. 

Until now. Now, when all of those observations could of been of  _ use _ . He could of told his team about certain styles, methods, that he’s seen others try. How they could think about trying those out. But there’s only so much he can write down with pen and paper. There’s only so much he can do from the sides. His hands tighten into fists. He fears the spotlight now. He remembers craving it, he  _ wants  _ to crave it. He wants to revel in the attention, he wants to lift his head to the guests watching him shine and greet them with his signature line. He wants to be  _ himself _ . 

He wants to be able to text Kuroo and Sawamura and the friends he’s ignored for the past month without his skin crawling and the scar burning. 

He wants to be able to do more than just grit his teeth and narrow his eyes in anger and frustration. 

He doesn’t want….he doesn’t want this to be real. He knows it’s real. He doesn’t want it to be. Just one, just  _ one way  _ to be normal again. He opens his mouth and-

No. If he wants...he swallows. If he wants to speak again, to be normal again….he can barely do that right now. He’s only recently reached the level where he can play without risk of damage. But talking is on a whole different level. And there’s only a chance that he’ll ever be able to reach that level. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He stands up and walks to the side of the court, where the non-starters stand, waiting to get switched it. 

He sees their eyes shine. He smiles back. They return the expression. They’ve been really helpful, really nice, his team. It’s like they’ve suddenly been trying to make him feel much more comfortable, not talking unless absolutely necessary when on the court. It’s affected their playing style- they’re better at reading each others body language, they don’t call out to each other (but they never needed that in the first place, with Akaashi being the best setter ever); they’re more aware of their surroundings, the amount of collisions they have reduced significantly. 

The ghost team. That’s what he’s heard some call Fukurodani now. With their expected appearance at Nationals also came their unexpected silence. Especially with Bokuto, who has never actually played in any of the official matches yet. 

But now, now he will. He will show them the might of Fukurodani now that they have their ace back. Less confident, sure, but more focused.  _ Hey, Bokuto, you gotta pay more attention- Watch out- WATCH OUT!  _

Itachiyama is ahead, six to three. Bokuto gets the go-ahead from coach, raising his number. The whistle blows and he’s quickly switched out, taking the volleyball, ignoring the feel of his hair resting against his forehead rather than spiking into the air. On the front row is Konoha, with his hands covering the back of his head in case of a bad serve. The same can’t be said for Akaashi, who looks over his shoulder to nod at him. 

_ Ghosts are dead. Ghosts are not real. They cannot make any mistakes since they don’t exist.  _

Center court. He turns around and counts his steps. He looks up and sees a sea of black and red, right at the front. Hinata, even though he was down just the other day, is leaning over the railing, Sawmaura’s hand on his jacket being the only thing keeping gravity from winning. Kuroo stands next to them with Kenma. All of them wear similar expressions on their faces, ones he’s never seen before. He turns around and raises the ball. 

Service ace. 

Another. 

Chance ball. 

His throat feels raw from the intense breaths he takes in. The silent court is his domain, jumping up and knowing Akaashi’s ball will meet his hand if it’s meant to go to him. “Go Go Koutarou!” Is chanted by Fukurodani’s cheer team and band. 

Set after set. 

Ball after ball. 

Dive after dive. 

All in silence. All for victory. Every impact on his elbows, on his padded knees. Every promise of a bruise as skin kisses ball. Jarring vibrations through his legs with each landing, the sting of the ball that turns his skin red and numb.  _ He’s bleeding out! Washio! Call 119! _

He pats his team on the back. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. He can tell that his silent glaring across the net unnerves most of Itachiyama. It’s only their libero and ace, the two people that Bokuto does actually know, who don’t shy away from him. 

And they win. A spike by Konoha that should of been too high but by chance, ended up bruising against the side of the outermost blocker’s outstretched hand. Bokuto lands from where he had also jumped to distract at least some of the opposite players. He’s already heading towards Konoha, mouth open silently and eyes wide with joy because they  _ won _ , they won the Spring Interhigh!

He takes one step and the numbness fades from his throat. The pain fights to gain a spot in the front of his mind. They’re crying, their congratulating each other...and Bokuto can’t even laugh. He can’t giggle. He can’t do  _ any of that _ -

The victorious feeling crumbles. And for some selfish cruel reason, it’s now, now that they’ve gained their victory, their rightful place at the top, that he feels the chill creep over him, the hopelessness and darkness he feels (especially towards himself) that is characteristic with his moods, a mood which he hadn’t had during the entirety of the match. 

He watches one tear, then two tears, shine the ground he stands on. 

“Bokuto?” He hears someone distantly say and there are suddenly hands everywhere, gently placing themselves on his head, his shoulders, his hands, his back. Pulling him towards something warm, something safe, something familiar. Arms wrap around him in a friendly hold and when he opens his eyes, his tear-blurred world is filled with familiar faces. He opens his mouth, a chocked sound managing to fight its way past his mouth, pain flaring in his throat. A whine follows the pain, doubling it, and his hands scrabble up to lift for his throat. Only to find that someone else’s hand has beaten him to the red. 

“Bokuto-san, please, it’s alright. We won. You’re the reason we won. So thank you, Bokuto-san. Please don’t feel negatively about yourself. Be happy. Be proud.” Bokuto closes his eyes, lifting his hand again to wipe the tears away this time. He sniffles. 

He’s ever tearier when they line up to get their awards. And the fear Bokuto feels when he, as captain, has to go get the trophy...It’s horrible. All the cameras flashing, reporters at the borders leaning their cameras over the barricades. Before he takes the trophy, he quickly bows then makes the JSL motions for “thank you” after straightening. The metal is cold in his hands but it’s no less comforting. 

The darkness lingers but all the lights, the lights are shining on him. And here, next to this random official, no one else can reach him. 

After giving the trophy to his teammates to pass around, exciting them more than the medals had, they take a bunch of photos. They’re serious at first but as the tears of joy dry and disappear, so does their maturity. Bokuto inds himself being lifted by the combined efforts of Washio and Konoha. The darkness is swept back even more. 

When he leaves the court with his club jacket on and medal bouncing on his chest, that’s when he comes face to face, at long last, with the unavoidable obstacle. 

Kuroo Tetsurou. One of his closest friends. He feels his team stop as Bokuto does. Kuroo is smiling; he doesn’t look angry. 

“Hey Bo- I missed ya! Did you get a new phone or something?” Kuroo jokes. “You won! Oh my gods, I’m so proud of you. You should of seen Chibi-chan, yelling at you so much. It’s impossible that you never heard him!” Bokuto had heard Hinata- it’s not like he could reply. But the darkness is gone and right now, he’s still riding the high. So he reaches to the side where he knows Akaashi is. He takes a step forward, puts a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder, then flings Akaashi forward. Now that Akaashi had Kuroo’s focus since the setter was forcefully rammed into Nekoma’s captain, Bokuto moves his arm from Kuroo’s shoulder so he could lightly poke his friends throat, causing the teen to let out a “Ow! What the heck!?” before tilting his head up just a bit, placing his finger right below the jagged scar on his throat. Then he clicks his tongue and kicks the side of Akaashi’s leg. He hears Konoha snicker. 

“Ah. Kuroo-san.” Akaashi has brought out the honorific for Kuroo. “I don’t believe Bokuto-san has made you aware of this fact yet but he can’t talk.” Kuroo raises an eyebrow. 

“As in….? Dude, you just won! Whatever bet you have with whoever- wait, what the Hell is that!?” Kuroo lunges forward and Bokuto takes a step back because that sudden lunge is  _ just like  _ that night, with the knife, with pushing them out of the way and moving in the wrong way at the wrong moment and-

“Kooo…” his throat produces before fire shoots through his throat with the hard sound. He squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders shuddering, tilting his face down so that his hair hides the tears that are starting to form. 

_ So even with winning I can’t be normal, I can’t just be like I should be  _ he thinks. He quickly adjusts his bag and moves past Kuroo and Akaashi, ignoring the calls from his teammates. He sees a blur of orange hair on a short body and hurries his pace, indoor shoes flying over the floor, taking him down the hallway. He doesn’t go to the exit, no no. He goes up the stairs. He knows this place like the back of his hand with the number of times he’s been here, racing up the stairs and past entryways to the different landings before he makes it to the floor that would take him to the uppermost viewing areas. But he doesn’t stop there, no. He does go down the hall, but he’s quick to drop his bag, stopping just short from the end of the hallway. He jumps up, easily gripping the barely noticeable handle, pulling the hidden door down. He’s easily able to haul himself up and then close the hatch to the roof right as he hears the door slam open, signaling that his team and Kuroo have caught up. 

He bites his tongue hardly to hold back the laughter. They’ll never know he’s up here! He hasn’t even told Akaashi about this place! The only way he knows is because he saw a member of the AC crew doing what he just did to get his forgotten tools after working on the machines stationed on the roof. 

He click his tongue and changes the pitch by widening and narrowing his mouth. He sits down right by the hatch, revelling the feel of the wind in his hair. He pulls his out of his jacket pocket, quickly pulling up the texting application. He’s about to text Akaashi first, but Akaashi is smart. He’s probably already figured out what happened because he’s Akaashi. 

So he texts Kuroo instead. 

He tells him everything that happened. 

When Bokuto finally decides to return to his team a half hour later, he opens the hatch to the sight of his whole team gathered with Kuroo in some sort of summoning circle around around his abandoned bag. At the sound of the metal creaking as it turns on the hinge. Kuroo has literal tears on his face and he lets out a loud gasp upon seeing Bokuto’s face in the gap suddenly formed in the roof. He mockingly raises an eyebrow. 

Time to jump down there, then. 


End file.
